


Everything Looks Better From Floor 69 (aka Jack's office)

by sealdog



Series: Ten Ways To Have A Threesome: #5 will shock you! [2]
Category: Borderlands
Genre: Double Penetration, M/M, Overstimulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 15:07:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7645981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sealdog/pseuds/sealdog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Between Jack’s rough tastes and Timothy’s attention, Rhys thinks a more regular thing might actually kill him. Is it possible to die from too much sex? It would be fun to find out, but at the same time, he doesn’t know if that’s really how he wants to go.</p><p>For one, Vaughn would probably get an Ouija board just to laugh at Rhys in the afterlife.</p><p>---</p><p>Rhys gets called up to Jack's office in a painfully thin excuse for a slightly plottier sequel to a pwp</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything Looks Better From Floor 69 (aka Jack's office)

**Author's Note:**

> just casually talking w renqa about rhys getting dp-ed, nbd. then this happened. such is life.
> 
> warnings for mangling of computer systems, especially since I didn't even bother googling to double check plausibility this time im sry im rly lazy :'|
> 
> unbeta-ed, lmk if u find typos and shit

The first memo comes, right as he’s about to leave for lunch, and Rhys doesn’t even have time to blink at it before the second one arrives, and then he’s yelping and picking up his pace to push his way past the slowly thickening crowd around the elevator lobby. The memos keep coming in, the alerts annoyingly hard to ignore on the HUD of his echo-eye, even as he’s apologizing and elbowing his way to the front.

“Sorry! I gotta, sorry, ‘scuse me, I need this elevator, sorry!” He squeezes into the elevator, accidentally-not-accidentally shoving Vasquez out of the space.

“Hey! Get out, I was here first!” Vasquez reaches forward, as if about to physically pull Rhys out, but is stopped when Rhys holds up his employee access card.

“I have a meeting with Handsome Jack, Vasquez. _Urgent_ meeting. The memo I got says my card should override the elevator and bring it right up to his floor.” Rhys scowls at Vasquez’s disbelieving look, and reaches over the shoulder of whoever’s in front of him to tap his card against the panel above the buttons, crossing his fingers behind his back that it works and it’s not all some elaborate joke.

To his relief, the lit button for the first floor immediately goes dark, and a voice, familiar from Hyperion’s announcements, chimes gently, “Destination: floor 69.” Rhys can’t help smiling smugly as the faces of the other people in the elevator blanch. One of them even stumbles out, shaking his head, only for the rest to follow, until Rhys is left in an empty elevator. Outside, Vasquez’s face has gone sour, and Rhys makes sure to turn his most blindingly Hyperion smile at him as the elevator’s doors close.

Getting one over Vasquez is always enjoyable, but the distraction only lasts for a short moment before his mind goes back to the memos. Running a hand nervously through his hair, he brings the memos up on his echo-eye. There are seven by now, and he reads through them carefully, chewing at his lip as he goes back to the first one and rereads it over and over again.

> My office. Now. Your employee card will give you priority access. Don’t keep me waiting.
> 
> –Jack

Thumping his head against the wall of the elevator, Rhys stares up at the ceiling, and wonders if he’s in trouble. The last and only time he’d been in Jack’s presence had been after the party where he- well. His memories of that night with Jack and his body double are crystal clear, etched in his mind (and spank bank) with glorious lucidity, but also incredibly hard to forget was the way he’d been kicked out right after.

“Sorry, he doesn’t- I wish you could stay.” The body double’s voice had been very apologetic, even as he led Rhys to the front door. “I…I would like to get to know you, if you would be okay with that.”

Rhys had been too dazed, by the (ridiculously amazing) sex and then by the speed at which he was being escorted out like yesterday’s rubbish, to respond properly beyond a nod and some mumbled assent. It seemed enough for the double though, from the way he’d brightened up and a smile wholly unlike Jack’s shark grin had flashed across his face.

“I’ll be in contact with you, when I can.” The double bent down and pressed a quick kiss to Rhys’ cheek, chaste and unnervingly sweet. The last thing Rhys had heard, before the body double drew back and Jack’s door shut on him, was a barely audible “My name’s Timothy, by the way.”

That had been the last of it. Nothing from Timothy, and certainly nothing from Jack, and by the third week, Rhys had eventually come to terms with the fact that he’d been a night’s entertainment and nothing more.

The elevator doors chime, bringing Rhys back to the present, and he checks himself quickly. God, of all the days to wear his comet printed socks…

Rhys barely pays any attention to the small, open offices on either side, too nervous as he strides quickly to the doors at the end of the office. They open as he approach, and he enters the room, wiping his sweaty hands on his trousers as discreetly as he can.

“Hey, there he is! _Finally_. What, did you get lost on the way up?” Jack stands up from the imposing desk at the end of the office, and beckons Rhys forward. Rhys glances to the side, where Timothy stands, eyes fixed on Jack’s desk. The welcoming smile on Jack’s face fades a bit when Rhys doesn’t immediately step forward, and Rhys hastens to do so.

Jack waits till Rhys is right in front of his desk before moving out from behind it, circling around Timothy to stop at Rhys’ back. Rhys resists the urge to look behind, and keeps his gaze fixed on Jack’s now-empty seat. The yellow leather looks _expensive_ , and to keep his mind off the intense stare boring its way through the back of his neck, he wonders what it would feel like to sit on that buttery looking leather.

They stand like that, in some kind of strange three-way standoff, Jack behind Rhys, and Timothy next to the desk, before Timothy breaks it by clearing his throat.

“Jack…” he trails off, before falling silent again.

Rhys tenses up at the feeling of a finger tracing around the back of his neck, along the edge of his collar. Then he consciously relaxes, and is rewarded with a huff of laughter from behind him.

“Bet you’re feeling really confused right now, eh?”

Rhys can’t help the startled laugh that bursts out of him at that, only to cut himself off and wince as the finger is replaced by a vise grip on his neck.

“Wanna share the joke with us?” Jack’s fingers tighten, just barely.

“Nothing! Except that you uh, you said pretty much the exact same thing the first time too.” Rhys doesn’t look over to where Timothy seems to be having a coughing fit, because he’s too busy trying to stop his own mouth. It’s not working. “Is there a reason you called me up here? ...Sir.”

Oh god, he hadn’t even finished that tub of ice cream in his fridge. Talk about regrets.

“Hah! Spunky.” Jack releases Rhys’ neck, and strides around the desk to fling himself back into the chair, gaze narrowed at Timothy. “Interesting choice.”

Rhys flicks a glance over to Timothy, curious despite himself. After all, Timothy never messaged him like he’d promised, and Rhys had pretty much assumed that it meant Timothy had lost interest. Jack’s words relight the tiny kindle of hope that he’d tried so hard to extinguish, despite him telling himself to keep it down.

Timothy finally glances up from his examination of Jack’s desk, giving Rhys an uncertain look before turning a firmer glare onto Jack. “Jack. You promised.”

Jack sighs, and rolls his eyes. “Alright, okay. You. What’s your name, Whiz? Cheese? Crease?”

“Rhys.” Rhys smothers his indignation to answer as blandly as he can.

“Right, knew it was something like that. Anyhoo, my friend over here, remember him?” At Rhys’ nod, Jack continues. “He’s been pining something _bad_ for you, after our little romp last time. It was kinda hilarious for the first few weeks or so, like watching Henderson’s kitten fight clubs but better, but it’s been so long and he’s _still_ all mopey and grumpy it’s kinda getting on my nerves.”

Rhys glances sidelong at how Timothy’s ears and cheeks burn red, and feels himself blush, more than a little pleased and flattered.

“So, I figured I’d call you up here, let him fuck you out of his system, and we can all go back to our daily _productive_ lives, am I right?” Jack’s last few words are pointed, as is his glare at Timothy.

“I didn’t- that was _not_ what we agreed on!” Timothy splutters, stepping around the desk to stand beside Jack’s chair, one hand coming up to Jack’s shoulder, giving it a little shake. Rhys watches in awe, because that’s _Handsome Jack’s shoulder_ Timothy’s shaking like a leaflet right there.

“What, you were serious?” Jack scowls. “I’m not apologising to your little crush for hurting his feelings!”

“ _Jack_.” Timothy sighs, and turns to Rhys, frustration vibrating from his every movement as he removes his hand from Jack’s shoulder. “He was supposed to apologise for kicking you out last time.”

“It’s really okay,” Rhys says, glancing between Jack’s incredibly mature pout and Timothy’s long-suffering expression, and trying not to laugh at the very different expressions on the same faces. It’s odd, he hadn’t expected Handsome Jack of all people to be so...well. Childish isn’t quite the right word, but Rhys can’t really think of another right now.

Then the expression on Jack’s face shifts, something calculating and almost dangerous flitting across it before it settles on anticipatory lust.

“Go on then, strip.”

\---

Timothy looks away as Rhys, looking like a deer caught in headlights, obediently starts to strip. He tells himself it’s to give Rhys some semblance of privacy, before Jack inevitably tears it all away, but a quiet voice from deep within him points out that if he really wanted to stop this, he could.

"Nice socks." Jack's smirking voice draws Timothy's attention back to where Rhys, now in his briefs and a pair of ludicrously patterned socks, is almost naked. The speed at which Rhys removes his socks is almost funny, and Timothy presses his lips together.

“Catch.” Jack waits until Rhys is fully naked before tossing the bottle of lube at him. Far beyond him.

Timothy winces, both at the way Rhys scrambles to catch it and fails, and at the way Jack cackles at the sight of Rhys’ naked, gangly limbs flailing. “Jack,” he says, hating the way it sounds almost pleading.

“What’s that, sugarplum? You’re the one that wanted him, don’t tell me you’re changing your mind now.” Jack’s eyebrows arch up as he glances back at Timothy.

“I’m not-” Timothy starts to say, but Jack’s already turning away from him.

“No no, don’t look at him,” Jack says when Rhys, lube in hand and back to standing in front of the desk, flicks his gaze over to TImothy, a frown on his face. “I’m giving him a present here, so I’m calling the shots. All he’s got to do is sit back and enjoy like the pampered little brat he is. You’re the present, by the way, just in case that wasn’t super clear already.”

Rhys flushes at that, pink spreading to his ears and neck even as the frown remains and his gaze fixed on Jack. He seems oddly okay with the current situation, which makes Timothy wonder. It’s not like he could run away, that bit Timothy understands, but...he glances down to check. It seems like Rhys is _into_ this, and hope flickers within Timothy.

“Prep yourself.”

Jack’s voice breaks TImothy’s reverie, along with the arm that comes up to sling around Timothy’s hips. Timothy glances down to see Jack watching him, eyes speculative. When Timothy makes eye contact, Jack grins and gives him a wink before turning back to Rhys, arm tightening around Timothy’s hips.

Rhys snaps the cap of the bottle open with his mechanical hand, and then pauses, looking uncertain despite his unflagging erection.

“What are you waiting for?” Jack asks, leaning his head against Timothy’s side. “Go on, show him how happy you are to see him.”

Timothy makes sure to check that Jack’s attention is still on Rhys before mouthing an “I’m so sorry” at him, even as he can’t help but let his eyes linger on Rhys’ naked body. The marks from their night together are gone by now, and the pale expanse of Rhys’ unmarked skin makes something in Timothy stir.

God, Jack is a _terrible_ influence.

Rhys, now a fetching shade of pink all over his face and down to his chest, seems to have noticed Timothy’s admiring look, because he gives Timothy a small smile before turning around, giving Timothy (and Jack) an _excellent_ view of his back and ass. The muscles of his back shift as he brings his arms up, and Timothy flashes back to Rhys stretched out beneath him, mechanical hand twisted in the sheets as his flesh hand grasped desperately at Jack, lying beside them both and whispering the filthiest things in Rhys’ ear.

Timothy doesn’t realise he’s holding his breath until it all whooshes out of him as Rhys slides his left hand, shiny and lube-slick, back until one finger slips teasingly between his cheeks. Going by the way Jack’s arm has gone tight around Timothy’s waist, he’s not the only one appreciating the show.

The arch of Rhys’ back as he twists to slide two fingers between his cheeks is mesmerizing, and Timothy has to bite down on his lips to hold back a moan as Rhys’ body stiffens and he lets out a soft gasp. Then Rhys parts his legs and bends forward slightly, giving them a better view, and Timothy has to remind himself to keep breathing. He resists the urge to adjust his pants, but beside him, Jack doesn’t seem to have the same problem. The arm around Timothy disappears, and when he glances down, he sees Jack shamelessly undoing the belt on his jeans.

In front of them, Rhys has moved on to two fingers and is now scissoring them, hips shifting as he struggles to maintain his balance and keep going. His half-hard dick bobs between his legs, and Timothy feels a pang of sympathy.

“May I?” He asks Jack, his voice quiet beneath the slick sounds of Rhys fingerfucking himself.

“What, you don’t want to enjoy the show?” Jack asks, glancing away from Rhys to eye Timothy curiously. When Timothy shakes his head, Jack shrugs, and turns back to watch Rhys. “Go ahead, loverboy.”

Timothy walks around the desk, ignoring Jack’s snicker at his awkward gait (damn Jack’s stupidly tight jeans), and moves to stand next to Rhys.

“Hey,” Timothy says, keeping his voice very soft.

“Hi.” Rhys straightens up, flushed and panting, and gives Timothy a dazed smile.

“Get a move on,” Jack calls out from behind.

Timothy doesn’t bother to hide his eye-roll, and Rhys grins at that. “I’m gonna…” he trails off, and lifts a hand to Rhys’ shoulder. “May I?”

Rhys nods, hand slipping out from behind him to hang loose at his side, waiting for Timothy’s cue. Timothy slides his hand along Rhys’ neck, enjoying the way Rhys shivers at his touch, and leans forward to kiss him.

Despite what Jack said, Timothy had not been _pining_ after Rhys for the past few weeks, but if hard pressed, he would probably admit to thinking about Rhys’ mouth. A lot. What it’d felt like against Timothy’s mouth, the shapes of it as Rhys made the sweetest sounds beneath Timothy and Jack’s hands.

Okay, maybe more than a lot.

Right now, licking at Rhys’ mouth as his thumb traced the line of his collarbone, Timothy hates to admit it but...maybe Jack had a point.

He pulls away with a final flick of his tongue to Rhys’ lips, and drags his gaze up from the spit-slick redness of Rhys’ mouth to make eye contact with him. Keeping his voice low, he says, “I’m sorry. Jack...he doesn’t--”

“It’s okay,” Rhys hums, and tilts his head in for another kiss. “I don’t mind.” His mechanical hand, still carrying the bottle of lube, comes up to rest on Timothy’s shoulder. Timothy gives in to the urge to slide his arms around Rhys’ waist, pulling him in close.

Rhys laughs breathlessly against Timothy’s cheek, and presses his naked body against Timothy, even as he protests, “You’re gonna get come and lube on your clothes.”

“Jack’s clothes.” Timothy says, and moves to take the bottle of lube from Rhys’ right hand. “He’s the one that came up with this idea anyway, he can deal with his clothes getting dirty.” He savours the way Rhys’ soft laughter shifts into a moan as Timothy slips his now slick hand down to grope at Rhys’ ass before sliding two fingers in.

Rhys squirms in Timothy’s arms, hips moving in little hitches as he thrusts, alternating between pushing back against his fingers and rubbing his cock against Timothy’s stomach. He’s hot and tight around Timothy’s fingers, and the way he’s pressing his entire body against Timothy, clutching at his shoulders and muffling his moans into Timothy’s shoulder is making it hard for Timothy to concentrate on opening him up as carefully as he can.

“Hey! I’m feeling left out over here, hello?” Jack snaps, and Timothy jerks back to reality. Right. He’d nearly forgotten Jack was there.

To his dismay, Rhys pulls away, enough that Timothy’s fingers slip out. “Guess we should head over, huh?” Timothy grins a little at how breathless Rhys sounds.

“Yeah, come on.”

They make their way closer to Jack’s desk, where Jack waits for them with an impatient scowl. When they get close enough, Jack gestures at the table pointedly, scowl not leaving his face.

Rhys takes the hint, and bends over the table, stretching so that his hands grip the edge of the desk in front of Jack.

“Get on with it already, jeez. You guys move slower than my grandma and she’s _ninety_ ,” Jack grumbles, even as the scowl fades off his face and his hands move to curl over Rhys’ wrists to anchor them to the desk.

Timothy drags his eyes away from the way Rhys’ hands flex against Jack’s, and goes back to working Rhys open. He goes as carefully and slowly as he dares to, with Jack’s gaze heavy on him, but it isn’t as slow as he’d like. Beneath him, Rhys doesn’t seem to mind the haste, going by the way he’s grinding against the desk and making muffled sounds. Still, he makes sure to press apologetic kisses to Rhys’ shoulder, and promises to himself that he’ll make it up to Rhys, somehow...someday.

He’s just managed to fit a third finger in, and is working on scissoring his fingers wider when suddenly there’s a familiar hand in his hair, pulling his head up till he’s face to face with Jack.

“Get _on_ with it,” Jack repeats, eyes narrowed.

Gulping, Timothy nods, and straightens up, relieved when Jack loosens his grip on his hair to go back to gripping Rhys’ wrists. He fumbles at his belt with clumsy fingers, and finally manages to pull his dick out. A few strokes with his lubey hand to slick himself up, and then he’s pressing into Rhys, who sighs and moves his hips back invitingly.

It’s a dizzying sort of feeling, to be back in Rhys after three weeks spent lingering over the memories of a single night, and he has to take a deep breath and close his eyes once he’s fully in. When he opens his eyes though, Jack’s face is right there, smug and proud and predatory all at once, and Timothy hastens to start thrusting.

Trapped between Timothy’s body above him and Jack’s hands tight on his wrists, all Rhys can do is press back minutely against Timothy’s hips and make encouraging sounds, but it’s more than enough to get Timothy going. He lets his hands rest on Rhys’ shoulders, careful not to press too hard on the shoulder plate of Rhys' mechanical arm, and loses himself in the wet, tight heat around him and the sounds of Rhys whimpering and moaning.

“H-harder,” Rhys gasps, and Timothy shakes himself out of his sex-addled daze enough to realise that Rhys has been saying that for a while now. Obligingly, he thrusts harder, not too sure how hard Rhys wants it but figuring that it’s better to play on the safe side. “Harder, please!” Rhys moans, pushing himself up onto his hands so he can thrust back against Timothy.

Before Timothy can wonder about how Rhys is straightening up with Jack’s grip on his wrists, and before he can even work to fulfil Rhys’ request, a shove comes to his shoulder, hard enough to leave him sprawling on the floor, dick sticking ridiculously out from his unzipped jeans. Confused, Timothy blinks up at where Jack’s moved to stand in his place and is now grinning down at him.

“The gentleman said _harder_ -” Jack slams into Rhys, all the way in, and continues over Rhys’ startled wail. “You gotta give him what he wants, it’s only _polite_.”

Timothy moves to stand back up, but Jack raises a warning hand, and he subsides, lying back down on the floor and glaring up at Jack.

“Man I thought you _wanted_ this! Where’s all that enthusiasm of yours, huh?” Jack continues to fuck hard into Rhys, each thrust slamming deep and making Rhys practically howl as he pushes back against Jack, hips moving frantically.

All it takes is Jack’s hand coming down to brush against Rhys’ cock and a particularly hard thrust, and then Rhys is coming all over Jack’s desk, grinding back against Jack and gasping out a broken sounding sob.

From his viewpoint on the floor, Timothy watches on, envy and lust warring within him. Rough sex isn’t really his thing, but he’s more than willing to participate in it if that’s what it takes to get Rhys off. And apparently it is, going by the way Rhys is practically sobbing as he slows his thrusts against Jack before letting out a final moan and slumping to the table, legs trembling. Timothy’s dick twitches at the sight, and he looks away, trying to calm down.

“Ohhhh, _god_ I forgot how tight you get when you come.” Jack shudders, eyes closed and a delighted expression on his face as he pats Rhys’ lower back fondly, as he would pat Buttstallion after she performs a particularly good trick. Then he’s pulling out and turning to give Timothy a wicked grin.

“Looking a little lonely there, kiddo.” He raises an eyebrow at Timothy’s erection, still standing up from his pants, then moves his gaze up to catch Timothy’s. “You too, sweetcheeks.”

Scowling, Timothy makes another attempt to stand up, only to get waved back down, again.

“No no, stay there.” Jack reaches down and hoists Rhys up from the desk with a grunt, one arm around Rhys’ waist and the other around his shoulders, hand nudging Rhys’ lolling head. “Did we ever manage to both fit into him last time or was my dick too big? Heh, _our_ dicks, I guess.”

The idea of he and Jack fucking Rhys at the same time really, _really_ shouldn’t be a turn on.

Timothy swallows, gaze flicking up to where Jack’s watching him with a smug expression.

“ _Knew_ you’d be into that,” Jack says, satisfaction practically dripping off his words. “Come on, help me move him.”

It takes a bit of shuffling, but soon, Timothy’s stripped down to Jack’s stupid yellow sweater, jacket folded beneath his ass to protect it from the cold floor. Rhys straddles his hips, ass grinding down slowly onto Tim’s erection as his left hand (wiped clean on Jack’s sweater, _ha_ ) comes up to touch wonderingly at Timothy’s face. Timothy waits till Rhys’ finger slides past his mouth to catch it, tongue curling out to flick against it. Rhys’ startled laughter is breathless, even as he slips another into Timothy’s mouth and starts thrusting them in and out slowly. His gaze is hot on Timothy’s own, and Timothy returns it with all the heated promise he can muster. He lets his teeth graze against Rhys’ fingers, and relishes the resultant intake of breath.

Jack reappears from where he’d gone to retrieve the bottle of lube from the table and moves to kneel between Timothy’s legs, behind Rhys, chin hooked onto Rhys’ shoulder. One of his hands goes to brush over Rhys’ chest carelessly. The other goes to push the yellow sweater up, revealing the freckles on Timothy’s abdomen that Jack never seems to get over.

“Hey cupcake, I’m gonna share a little secret with you,” Jack murmurs into Rhys’ ear, eyes fixed on Timothy’s.

Oh god, not this again.

Timothy tears his gaze away from both Jack and Rhys to stare at the ceiling, embarrassed and pleased all at once. The freckles are one of the few things Jack hadn’t made him get rid of, because for some reason, he’s weirdly transfixed with them. Timothy can’t keep count of the number of times Jack has made him strip and lie down on their bed, just so he can trace over the freckles that dust over Timothy’s body in fascination.

(Jack has, more than once, offered to replace the ones that had been taken away in the first few facial surgeries. Timothy has always refused, afraid of what it might mean to see his old self on his new face.)

“This little fella’s got the cutest line of freckles...right...here.” Jack’s voice is hushed, and his fingers are almost ticklish as they trace a line of four freckles on Timothy’s belly, almost parallel to his left hipbone. Timothy can’t help the way his stomach muscles tighten up at Jack’s touch, or the gasp that escapes his lips when Rhys traces over the line as well.

“Freckles,” Rhys echoes, giving Timothy the sweetest smile as he moves his hand to explore the new freckles exposed by Jack’s pushing the sweater further up. “I’ve always thought they were cute.”

“Right?” Jack sighs, spreading his hand over Timothy’s chest and pressing down possessively. “I never get tired of them.”

He gives Timothy’s abdomen one last pat before turning back to Rhys, hands moving to grasp at Rhys’ hips. He tugs, and Rhys moves obediently, pliant within Jack’s grip as he’s lifted slightly off Timothy’s lap.

One of Jack’s hands goes to stroke at Timothy, spreading a cold slickness across his erection and making him hiss and flinch. He scowls at Jack, who only gives him a wicked grin.

“Time to ride, cowboy,” Jack says, and pulls Rhys down onto Timothy’s cock.

Timothy gasps, body tightening as he strains to resist the urge to thrust up, thrust into Rhys’ heat, and his hands fly up to grab at Rhys’ waist. They collide with Jack’s hands, and Jack sniggers as he brushes Timothy’s hands off carelessly.

“Hands off the merchandise, kiddo.” With that warning, Jack starts to urge Rhys to rise up and thrust back down, knocking away Timothy’s hands every time he tries to slow Rhys down.

Rhys, for his part, seems to be enjoying working together with Jack to wreck Timothy, going by the way he’s grinning down at Timothy, flushed and enthusiastic as he moves his hips to the pace Jack sets. His hands go to Timothy’s stomach, alternating between touching his freckles and playing with the edge of his sweater.

Groaning, Timothy gives up and thumps his head on the floor, hands falling to the side as he thrusts up helplessly into Rhys, eyes squeezing shut. Jack’s cackle mingles with Rhys’ breathless snicker, and Timothy thinks deliriously that this might be the best fever dream he’s ever had.

Just as he thinks that, Rhys’ movements start to slow. Timothy opens his eyes, only to be met with the sight of Rhys with _his_ eyes shut, mouth open as he pants soundlessly. He glances down, and realises that Jack has moved on to stroking Rhys’ cock. Feeling a little bit left out, he runs his own hands up Rhys’ thighs, liking the feel of the sparse body hair catching against his palms. Rhys arches into his and Jack’s combined touch, a ragged sound falling from his lips.

“Think you’re ready for me to join in?” Jack asks, flashing a grin with Timothy even as he directs the question at Rhys. He doesn’t wait for an answer, but lets go of Rhys’ cock to push Rhys down with a firm hand to his back.

Rhys moves willingly enough, until he’s practically lying on Timothy’s chest, face tucked shyly into Timothy’s shoulder as Jack moves behind him, the telltale snick of the lube bottle opening a clear sign of what’s coming. Timothy’s a bit breathless, partly from Rhys’ weight and partly from the burning anticipation, but all the remaining breath in his chest seems to vent itself into space when Jack presses the head of his dick against Timothy’s hole. He clenches up, involuntarily. At that, Jack’s head pops up over Rhys’ shoulder, eyebrows arched as he stares down at Timothy.

The moment passes when Rhys squirms between them and hums questioningly, and Jack’s attention is drawn back to sliding one finger in alongside Timothy’s cock. Timothy brings a hand up to stroke soothingly down Rhys’ back, coaxing him to relax as Jack works in another finger.

It’s tight, Timothy can _feel_ how tight Rhys is around his cock, and he worries nervously at the corner of his lip as he feels Rhys clench down and whimper. Behind Rhys, Jack doesn’t seem to have reached the end of his (very limited) patience yet, so Timothy runs his hands down Rhys’ sides and back, and tries his best to keep his hips very still. Jack’s fingers against his cock are a dull, solid pressure against the tightness of Rhys’ hole, and if Timothy wasn’t already at maximum hardness, the thought of both him and Jack fitting into Rhys would have done the trick.

Soon, Jack’s fingers are slipping out, and then his dick is pressing in alongside Timothy’s. Between them, Rhys jerks minutely, only to subside when Timothy rubs gently at his back and whispers nonsensical things, shushing him and telling him how good he feels, how tight he is, how he’s doing so well. Above Rhys, Jack’s eyes are fixed on Timothy, something fierce and possessive behind his gaze, and Timothy closes his eyes, presses his mouth to Rhys’ sweat-damp temple, and continues to murmur reassurances beneath the weight of Jack’s stare.

There’s a long moment where things feel almost frozen in time, when both Jack and Timothy are all the way in Rhys, and all Timothy can think of is, _oh god, oh god I can’t breathe_. Rhys’ weight on his chest, the heat and tightness around his cock, Jack’s hands heavy and threatening on the outside of Timothy’s thighs...everything feels like too much and not enough at the same time, and Timothy wants it to never end.

Then Rhys shifts, moaning brokenly as his hardening cock is pressed between his and Timothy’s stomachs, and the spell is broken. He presses a kiss to Rhys’ damp temple, inhaling the rich, intoxicating smell of sex and sweat and, charmingly enough, hairgel that smells a lot like the same one Jack uses.

When he opens his eyes, Jack’s still staring down at him.

Timothy freezes, because the expression on Jack’s face is not one that he’s ever seen before. He flips furiously through his mental catalogue of Jack’s expressions and moods, and while this one is close to “speculative” and “reassessing”, it has an element of...something close to the look he gets when he stares at the face-down picture on his desk? It’s unfamiliar, and unnerving.

Then Jack grins, and the look disappears as he glances down at Rhys. “Congratulations, Rhysie! Now you can tell everyone you had two of Handsome Jack’s dicks in your ass, good job, well done, slow clap, kudos all around!”

Rhys raises his head just enough to give a long-suffering look at Timothy, which he returns with fervour, only for them to both gasp as Jack rocks his hips experimentally. Timothy feels Jack’s cock slide out against his, the sensation unnerving and incredibly hot at the same time, and his hands go to clutch at Jack’s forearms for something to anchor him down.

“Jack…” he drags his gaze up to meet Jack’s, and is rewarded with a fierce grin and another rock of Jack’s hips.

Between them, Rhys is trembling, hunched in on himself as he whimpers, brows furrowed and lips parted, and Timothy can’t help but lean up to press a kiss to his slack mouth, coaxing it into response. Jack, surprisingly polite for once, waits till Timothy’s pulled back before reaching forward to pull Rhys upright with a hand in his hair, and then he’s kissing Rhys too, messily and with more teeth than tongue. Throughout all this, Rhys’ eyes remain closed, hands tightening spasmodically on Timothy’s shoulders as he returns their kisses clumsily.

When Jack lets go of Rhys’ hair, Rhys slumps back down against Timothy, and mumbles something that might be a thankful prayer.

“Alright, go time!” Jack says cheerfully, and without any further warning, starts up a hard, fast pace that leaves Rhys crying out and shuddering on Timothy’s chest. Beneath him, TImothy is practically sweating bullets as he tries his best to stay as still as possible beneath the dual onslaughts of Rhys’ warm body on him and the slick, hot glide of Jack’s cock pressing into Rhys next to Tim’s.

He can feel Jack’s still-clothed thighs brushing against the sensitive skin of his inner thighs with every movement Jack makes, and instinct makes him tighten his legs, help give Jack an added weight to his thrusts. For that, he gets an approving pat on his thigh, and a genuine smile, bright enough that he has to close his eyes and press his face into Rhys’ hair and just- _feel_ everything.

Lost in the sensations, it takes Timothy a few seconds longer than it should to realise that the sensations have stopped, that Jack’s pulled out and that he’s the only one in Rhys right now. He opens his eyes blearily, wondering when he’d started tearing up, and stares up at Jack, who’s got his eyes fixed on him and teeth bared as he strips at his cock with an impatient hand.

Timothy blinks, confused, and opens his mouth to ask a question just as Jack starts coming, all over Rhys’ back and TImothy’s face. Jack cackles at Timothy’s flinch, breathless and triumphant, and runs his free hand through the mess on Rhys’ back possessively.

“You know, on some planets they’ve got like, face creams made from the jizz of whatever freakish native species they’ve got there,” Jack says, hand on his dick slowing down. “Supposed to be great for your skin and what not.”

Rhys doesn’t respond to the non-sequitur beyond a confused sound, too busy grinding his ass down on Timothy’s lap, so Timothy takes it upon himself to answer.

“I don’t think they’ve found skincare properties in human semen yet, Jack.”

“Eh, you never know.” Jack shrugs, waving one hand in the air dismissively as he straightens up. “A whole line of Hyperion products, _feel the jizz of Handsome Jack, on your face_. Whaddya think?”

“...No.”

“Nah, you’re right. Plus you never know what those weirdo fans of mine might start using it for.” Giving a satisfied sigh, Jack stands up and tucks himself back into his trousers before bending to wipe his hand on Rhys’ back with a smirk.

“ _Jack_!” Timothy hisses indignantly, hand hovering over Rhys’ back protectively.

In response, Jack only laughs. “Okay, that was a good break, very relaxing. I’m gonna go back to work now, have fun, kids! Take your time, daddy’s feeling generous.”

Off-key humming follows him as he circles back round the desk, and then there’s the familiar sound of him throwing himself into his chair carelessly.

Sighing, Timothy stares up at the ceiling while rubbing absently at Rhys’ back. He’d been really close to coming too, and it might have been nice to come at the same time as Jack. For once.

“Is he...always like this?” Rhys asks, very quietly. When Timothy glances down, he realises that Rhys is watching him, expression carefully neutral other than the slight pout he’s got going on.

“‘Wham bam thank you ma’am’? Yeah, pretty much.” Timothy makes sure to keep his voice low as well. “You get used to it.”

“Hm.” Rhys keeps watching Timothy, his gaze as mismatched as Jack’s (and Timothy’s) but a lot warmer. “So you’re usually just left to…” He grinds down experimentally, and grins at Timothy’s gasp. “Take care of things on your own?”

“Y-yeah, pretty much,” Timothy replies in a daze, thrusting up before he can help it. “Wait, wait.”

“What?” Rhys asks, eyes sliding shut as he starts up a steady rocking on Timothy’s lap, hands fisting themselves in Timothy’s sweater.

“There’s a couch, do you--” Timothy cuts himself off as Rhys rolls his hips particularly hard. Giving up, he moves to run his hands along Rhys’ sides, enjoying the feel of Rhys’ abdominal muscles moving under his smooth skin. Rhys is a lot slimmer than Jack, his muscles not so heavy, and Timothy catalogues the differences greedily, hands tracing across Rhys’ unmarked skin, so different from the scarred expanse of both his and Jack’s torsos.

Rhys bends down to kiss Timothy, mouth moving sweet and slow against his, and Timothy sighs, content.

Then Jack goes and ruins the mood even from all the way over in his chair by belching, loud enough that the sound rips through the office.

Scowling, Timothy pulls back, only to feel his irritation melt away at the wry smile on Rhys’ face.

“Not exactly the conquering hero you dreamed of, is he?”

Rhys shrugs, the small smile still on his face.

“Wanna move to the couch?” Timothy asks, jerking his chin over to the side. “It’s a lot further away.”

“Sure.” Rhys clambers off Timothy, moving awkwardly as he winces and rubs at his legs. “Couch definitely sounds like a good idea, ow.”

“Oh, are your knees okay?” Timothy reaches forward, but stops a few inches away, hands hovering uselessly.

“Um...the legs aren’t the real problem.” Rhys laughs breathlessly, and clutches at Timothy’s arms. “My ass feels…” He shivers, and blushes, looking down.

“...Oh.” Timothy says, for lack of anything better to say. His traitorous dick, thankfully currently hidden by the edge of Jack’s sweater, twitches.

He helps Rhys over to the couch, resisting the temptation to just sweep Rhys up and carry him. When they get there, Rhys collapses shakily onto it, and immediately reaches out to Timothy, pulling him down until they’re both stretched out on the couch, Rhys beneath Timothy and his legs wrapped around Timothy’s hips.

Timothy spends the first few minutes trying to keep his weight off Rhys as they make out, worried he would squash him, until Rhys mumbles something that sounds vaguely irritated, and pulls back from where he’s kissing Timothy to say firmly, “You’re not gonna break me, come on, relax.”

So Timothy forces himself to untense, to relax into Rhys’ warmth, press him down into the sofa.

“Come on, fill me up,” Rhys whispers, hands carding through Timothy’s hair. “Want to feel you.”

Groaning, Timothy fumbles to get his dick lined up and then he’s pressing into Rhys, back into his heat and shuddering at how good it feels. He starts up a slow pace, thrusting in and out, but it soon gets sloppier and faster as Rhys whispers filthy encouragement to him, hands twined in Timothy’s hair, peppering his face with kisses as he whispers, _harder, faster, fuck me_.

Then Rhys breathes out, _Timothy_ , soft enough that Jack definitely wouldn’t hear it, and Timothy’s coming, muffling his cries into Rhys’ shoulder and jerking his hips unevenly against Rhys’ ass.

It takes Timothy a few minutes before he catches his breath enough to sit up and roll off the couch to kneel beside Rhys, who’s wheezing slightly from getting squashed, but watching Timothy with a fond expression.

“Good?” Rhys asks, tracing one hand down the side of Timothy’s face.

Timothy catches the hand, and brings it up to kiss the knuckles. “Very.” He glances down at where Rhys is still hard and leaking, and brushes his free hand against it carefully. “May I?”

“Please,” Rhys says, smiling.

Timothy climbs back onto the couch, lower this time so that his face is practically in Rhys’ lap. Remembering what Rhys had said earlier about feeling empty, he slides one hand up Rhys’ inner thigh, and brushes it teasingly against his hole, catching the come that's beginning to drip out. He waits till Rhys is practically squirming with impatience before sliding the come back in with two fingers, thrusting in shallowly and enjoying the soft cries Rhys lets out.

Using his other hand to steady Rhys’ cock, he starts sucking at it, moaning around the taste he’s been thinking of for weeks now. Between Timothy’s fingers and mouth, Rhys doesn’t take long to come, probably still sensitive from his first time earlier and from all the stimulation, but Timothy savors every moment of it, swallowing Rhys down and sucking carefully, playing with his foreskin. He only lets Rhys slip out of his mouth when he starts twitching in overstimulation, and he does so reluctantly.

When he’s done, he returns back to kneel next to Rhys’ head, pillowing his chin on his crossed arms and watching Rhys blink dazedly at the ceiling. He takes no small amount of pride in how long it takes for Rhys to gather himself, and waits quietly, letting one hand trace down the line of Rhys’ mechanical arm as he watches.

“Good?” He asks, when Rhys finally turns to look at him, a dazed looking smile on his face.

“Very,” Rhys grins, sweet and soft.

\---

Rhys lets his gaze wander over Timothy’s face, tracing the line of his brows and jaw. It’s odd, they haven’t even spent that much time in each other’s presence, but already he thinks he can see what’s _Timothy_ , beneath Jack’s face. The way he frowns, the lines at the corner of his eyes, the way he tilts his head when he’s thinking...they don’t seem anything like the Handsome Jack that Hyperion knows, or like the Jack that has proven himself to be a capable, if selfish lover in their two encounters so far.

Something like wistfulness rises within Rhys. Going by Jack’s words earlier, it doesn’t seem like Jack’s too enamoured of the idea of Timothy and Rhys getting to know each other. Perhaps, at best, the most that Rhys could aspire to was for this to be a regular thing, to get glimpses into their relationship and hope that he’d get a couple of great orgasms along the way. Or more, because _seriously_ , between Jack’s rough tastes and Timothy’s attention, Rhys thinks a more regular thing might actually kill him. Is it possible to die from too much sex? It would be fun to find out, but at the same time, he doesn’t know if that’s really how he wants to go.

For one, Vaughn would probably get an Ouija board just to laugh at Rhys in the afterlife.

Rhys half-smiles at the thought, and Timothy catches it, going by the way he lifts a brow at Rhys. He doesn’t say anything though, but keeps staring at Rhys, something soft in his gaze. It’s unsettling, if rather flattering. Rhys doesn’t think he’s ever had anybody pay so close attention to him before, let alone such... _nice_ attention. His hand traces lower, close to Timothy’s mouth, and Timothy takes the hint, moving to catch his thumb gently.

Then Jack’s voice snaps out, breaking their moment. Again.

“Hey, you. Rhys. You’re from the Data Division, right? Get over here, tell me what this looks like.”

Startled, Rhys sits up, thumb slipping from Timothy’s mouth. Next to him, Timothy sighs silently, resignation flashing over his face before he looks up and gives Rhys a tired smile.

“Come on, let’s head back before he gets cranky.”

Rhys follows Timothy back, feeling self-conscious of his nakedness now that he’s not turned on out of his mind. He very determinedly doesn’t cover his crotch, but it takes a lot of effort, and carefully walking so that Timothy stands between him and Jack.

When they reach the area in front of Jack’s desk, Rhys immediately bends down and picks up his clothes from where he’d folded and left them earlier. He’s got his slacks on, but not buttoned, and his shirt pulled over one arm when Jack speaks again.

“Screw that, just get _over here_.” Jack sounds impatient, as is his beckoning gesture, but in a general way and not at Rhys. Or so Rhys hopes. Rhys scrambles to obey just in case, trying to put his other sleeve on as discreetly as he can.

“That’s the pushed code for the recent update to the Echonet systems, right?” He says, squinting vaguely at Jack’s huge screen and trying to ignore how close Jack is next to him. He scans through the lines of code, double checking. “Yeah, I wasn’t on the team for this, but we all had to pitch in to debug it in time for the release date.”

“Okay, what about this?” Jack highlights a short section, and sits back, swinging back and forth idly in his chair as he watches Rhys.

Caught off guard and _really_ wishing he’d had the time to dress properly, or at least to wipe away the come now dripping from his ass, Rhys does his best to focus, and tries to put Jack’s heavy gaze out of his mind as he reads.

“That’s umm metadata for one of the data packets. Looks like the source is somewhere from R&D, going by the IP address” he pulls up the list of headers on his echo-eye and double checks. “Yep, R&D’s west wing. If you want a more specific location I can get someone to run it down for you.”

“Can you tell where the destination is?” Jack sits up, hands held loosely between his legs as his attention sharpens.

“It’s...huh.” Rhys frowns. “It’s not listed here… It might be an off-Helios site?”

“Hah! Good, very good.” Jack nudges Rhys aside, and starts tapping at his screen.

Rhys backs away uncertainly, and watches as Jack gestures Timothy over. Something seems to pass between them, some unspoken communication, because Jack soon stands up and starts calling someone to yell at them, while Timothy slides into the seat Jack just vacated, and takes over whatever it is Jack was doing. They move with the ease of familiarity, and Rhys takes another step back, closer to the window with the fantastic view of Elpis.

He adjusts his clothing, puts himself back into some semblance of order, and continues to watch silently, feeling like it wouldn’t be a good idea to interrupt anytime soon. It turns out to be a good hunch, because Jack starts raising his voice, snapping instructions and threats at whoever it is he’s calling, gestures getting agitated and choppy as he stalks and paces in front of the desk.

The end of Jack’s call is signalled by Jack’s flinging his phone across the office with a snarl, only to stomp over and pick it back up. When he returns, he slams his phone down onto the desk, and smacks Timothy on the back vigorously.

“I _told_ you!” Is all he says, giving Timothy a smug grin before he turns to Rhys. “And now that that’s taken care of...”

Rhys glances at Timothy, who makes an ambivalent gesture that could be “I’ll tell you later” or “Just ignore him”.

“Thanks for the help, Rhysie,” Jack says, giving Rhys a lookover. “Not bad...pretty _and_ smart.”

“You’re...welcome,” Rhys says slowly, frowning slightly as he tries to figure out what just happened. “Should I head back to work now?”

About to shake his head, Jack pauses, and gives Rhys another lookover. Rhys tries not to twitch beneath his gaze, or adjust his no doubt terribly disheveled clothing.

“Y’know what, I think I’ll let you keep him,” Jack says to Timothy, unbuckling his belt and moving over to the chair. Timothy obediently vacates it, the hopeful expression on his face mirroring the thumping of Rhys’ heart. “Good eye, picking him out. Turns out your taste isn’t entirely terrible after all, eh?”

Settling into the chair, he turns back to Rhys, and spreads his legs, half-hard erection making an intimidating bulge in his jeans.

“Be a good boy, and take care of this before you head off.”

Rhys swallows, and looks to Timothy, who gives him an encouraging nod.

Stepping forward gingerly, Rhys goes to kneel in front of Jack, left hand going to take hold of his cock as his right hand moves to balance himself against Jack’s thigh. He starts stroking Jack to hardness slowly, using the precome to slick the way.

“What, not gonna show me how good you are with your mouth?” Jack asks, eyebrows raised.

“Not unless you want me to? I mean, that _was_ just in my ass, so I’d really prefer not to…” Rhys trails off as Jack lets out a belly laugh, slapping at his thighs and laughing so hard his dick bounces against his stomach.

“Oh, we’re _definitely_ keeping you.” Jack wipes at his eyes, and runs his hand through Rhys’ hair approvingly. “Come on then, climb aboard.”

He does something to the chair, which fixes solidly into place, and makes an inviting gesture at his lap. Taking the hint, Rhys undoes the clasp on his pants and shrugs them off, making a face at the wet spot on them as he folds and sets them aside. He steps forward, and reaches out to Jack’s shoulder to balance himself.

“No, no. Face the other way, that way Mr. Oral Fixation over here can join the party.” Jack turns Rhys to face the window, and tugs him down onto his lap. Rhys goes slowly, resisting a little because holy shit he had _not_ been expecting to ride Handsome Jack today. If he’d known, he would’ve maybe cut down on the ice cream for the past couple weeks, and also no matter how fancy the chair was, it did _not_ look like it would hold both their weights.

“Relax, this chair has held up to _way_ more strenuous activity.” Rhys can practically hear the smirk in Jack’s voice.

Giving in, he lets himself be pulled down, reaching between his legs to hold Jack’s dick in position as he lowers himself. It slides into him with little resistance, the lube and come from earlier and the whole _getting fucked by two dicks_ thing clearly having done its part in opening Rhys up. While it’s not as intense as the afore-mentioned two dicks, Jack’s cock is still a comforting weight filling Rhys up, its width and heat pressing up into Rhys and making something within him settle.

Groaning, Rhys relaxes into it, and lets his head roll back against Jack’s shoulder as Jack sinks deeper into him.

“ _That’s_ more like it,” Jack praises, hands stroking down Rhys’ chest and brushing teasingly over his nipples and making him arch up.

It’s a bit unnerving, to give in and let Jack and the chair take his weight. Even more unnerving, when Jack moves to cup his hands beneath Rhys’ knees and pulls them up and over the edge of the chair’s armrests. It leaves Rhys feeling exposed and off-balance, whatever leverage he has entirely dependent on Jack’s strength.

It’s an intoxicating feeling, to be so vulnerable, and Rhys clenches down, whimpering, as he clutches at Jack’s arms helplessly.

“What, you waiting for a handwritten invitation or something?”

Jack’s voice makes Rhys open his eyes. Timothy hovers in front of them, and even backlit by the expanse of space in the window, Rhys can see the worry on his face.

“He just came for the second time not too long ago,” Timothy says, gesturing at where Rhys’ cock is making a valiant attempt to get hard again, but not succeeding very well. “We should probably…”

“Nah, he’s good. Aren’t you, Rhysie?” Jack lets go of one of Rhys’ knees, and tugs Rhys’ hair until he can see his face.

Rhys glances down at his red and still mostly soft cock. Twice in as many hours is pretty much the most that he’s tried for, beyond that weird horny period of his adolescence, and he genuinely doesn’t know if he can come again. His vague hopes of death-by-orgasm seem to be getting more and more concrete, and maybe he should just get Vaughn the Ouija board himself, save him the trouble.

“I...don’t know if I can,” Rhys admits, reaching down carefully. He takes hold of his cock gingerly, and flinches at the oversensitive feeling, letting go immediately. “Maybe in a bit?”

“No.” Jack’s voice is resolute, and for some reason, that makes Rhys’ cock twitch. Gasping at the feeling, he curls in on himself, or tries to. Jack’s grip on his hair is as firm as his voice as he continues. “I wanna come while he’s coming around me, and you’re gonna _get_ him there.”

Rhys squirms, embarrassed at how this is _really doing it for him_.

In front of him, Timothy glances down, and Rhys can practically see the longing in his eyes. Okay, Jack had clearly not been exaggerating too much when he’d said oral fixation.

“If I die, please don’t tell anybody I died having sex,” Rhys says, hoping to put Timothy at ease with the indirect consent.

It seems to work, as well as make Jack laugh again, which spreads a warm feeling down Rhys’ chest. Timothy grins weakly at that, and moves forward to kneel between Jack and Rhys’ legs. His shoulders are broad, like Jack’s, and it makes Rhys feel even more exposed.

The exposed feeling only gets more intense when Timothy leans forwards, and pauses with his mouth over Rhys’ cock to make eye contact with him. He seems to be waiting for some kind of cue, so Rhys takes a deep breath, sends up a prayer, and says, “Oh my god. Okay, okay go.”

The edges of Timothy’s eyes crinkle a bit, and then he’s leaning down to take Rhys gently into his mouth.

Whimpering, Rhys tries to move back, away from the heat and wetness, all too much for his poor oversensitive cock, but Jack is an implacable presence against his back, his arms hooked under Rhys’ knees and his hands going to trap Rhys’ wrists against his chest. Timothy’s mouth is gentle, and he uses practically no suction but it’s all so much, Rhys feels like he’s going out of his mind from the overstimulation, trapped between Jack’s cock in him and Timothy’s mouth on him and Jack’s arms around him.

“Ah! I- please, I can’t-” He shakes his head, turning his face into Jack’s neck to muffle his cries.

“It’s okay, he knows what he’s doing,” Jack says, hands tightening on Rhys’ wrists. “Keep your eyes open, kiddo, you can do this.”

The surprisingly encouraging tone of Jack’s voice sends shivers through Rhys’ spine, and he nods shakily, suddenly desperate to accomplish this somehow. He tries to focus on the amazing view of space in the window behind Timothy, the feeling of Jack’s arms wrapped tightly around him, anything to stop himself from thinking about the way his cock feels like its burning as it slowly begins to harden under Timothy’s talented tongue.

It seems to work, because he’s getting harder, hard enough now that Timothy has to pull back his head a bit. When he glances down through watery eyes, Timothy’s still watching him, something like adoration in his gaze as he continues to suck. Rhys gives him a tremulous smile in return, and is rewarded with another eye-smile.

“He’s good, isn’t he?” Jack murmurs into Rhys’ ear, voice a rumble against Rhys’ back as he loosens his grip on Rhys’ wrists. “He likes it too, you won’t believe how many times he’s gone and come on me before he can even finish sucking me off, the selfish little jerk.”

Rhys laughs shakily, and reaches down to thread his flesh hand through Timothy’s hair.

“Yeah, keep doing that and you’ll see for yourself what I meant,” Jack says, bringing one hand down to join Rhys’ in carding his fingers through Timothy’s hair.

Beneath their hands, Timothy’s eyes slide shut and he moans, the vibrations travelling through Rhys and making him moan himself.

“Thaaat’s it,” Jack exhales, voice getting rougher as Rhys clenches around him. “God, keep going, both of you.”

And they do. Timothy adds a bit of a bobbing motion to his actions, and Rhys...Rhys actually finds himself ebbing closer to yet another orgasm as he alternates between grinding down on Jack, and thrusting up into Timothy’s mouth. The office is silent but for harsh breathing, and the wet, sloppy sounds that Timothy is making, and it feels surreal enough that when he comes, he does so silently, biting back on his groan as he moves helplessly on Jack’s lap.

Jack doesn’t actually come till a few minutes after Rhys, but it’s close enough, and Rhys helps him along by clenching down as best he can as Jack practically picks him up and uses him like a toy, lifting him up and down onto his cock. In front of them, Timothy sits back on his knees, and watches with a hand stripping furiously at his own cock.

When Jack comes, Timothy comes practically right after, and Rhys wonders if it’s from watching Jack come, or from self-defense. From what Timothy mentioned earlier, Rhys wouldn’t be surprised if Timothy has often found himself left hard and wanting after sex with Jack.

Eventually, as Jack’s breath evens out, he nudges at Rhys pointedly. Rhys climbs off with Timothy’s help, and moves to put his (gross, stained, and no doubt going to be further stained) slacks back on.

Timothy helps him put on his jacket, movements a little sluggish and languid as he smooths his hands down Rhys’ chest in a really transparent show of neatening Rhys up. Still, Rhys probably needs all the help he can get to looking respectable for the walk of shame back to his office. He’s actually surprised Jack hasn’t kicked him out yet.

“Hey,” Jack says just then, right on time.

“It’s okay, I know the way out.” Rhys gives Timothy a pat on the shoulder in thanks, and turns back to Jack, only to stop short at the way Jack’s raising his eyebrows at him.

“What, did you come so hard you forgot what I said earlier, dimwit?” Jack’s tone is acerbic, but his expression remains fairly genial. “I said we were keeping you, didn’t I?”

“Oh,” Rhys says dumbly.

“Yeah, _oh_.” Jack mimics mockingly. “Get over here, I’m giving you a new phone, and figuring out where to promote you to so dumbass over there-” he jerks a thumb at Timothy “-can slobber all over you and be productive at the same time.”

Exchanging a dry look with Timothy, Rhys heads over to stand in front of Jack’s desk, walking a little bowlegged and trying to conceal it. He’s not very successful, going by Timothy’s muffled cough, and Jack’s grin. Ignoring them both, he stands there, and tries not to fidget too much. Luckily, Jack only makes him stand there for a few seconds before he tosses an echo comm at Rhys’ face.

Even more luckily, Rhys actually manages to catch it. With his left hand, even.

“Congratulations, Rhysie,” Jack says, leaning back in his chair and slinging an arm around Timothy’s waist. “Welcome to the cool kids’ club.”


End file.
